


It Stretches On Forever

by Llama1412



Series: King and Country [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Incest, Gen, One-Sided Relationship, Past Relationship(s), Politics, Regret, Sibling Incest, Unrequited Love, mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29231616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Foltest reflects on regrets of the past. Specifically, regrets about losing his enforcer.
Relationships: Adda of Temeria | Foltest's Sister/Foltest, Foltest & Vernon Roche, Foltest/Vernon Roche
Series: King and Country [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2146260
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	It Stretches On Forever

**Author's Note:**

> LMAO it took less than 30 mins after posting part 1 of this for me to start writing a sequel. But uh, this takes place kinda waaaay in the future (at least a couple of years?) and the idea is that in the interim, Roche recruited the Stripes, who are loyal to Temeria, but not necessarily to Foltest. And Iorveth beat some sense into him (possibly literally 😬) and once the idea of a free land with humans, elves, and dwarves was broached as like, a thing that could actually happen, he and the Stripes ended up helping out. First in secret, then not so secretly (probably around the time Kaedwen attacks Vergen??? idk, the timeline is all over the place oops)
> 
> Title is in reference to this quote by Renata Suzuki: "Regret is such a short word... and yet it stretches on forever."

Kings did not have regrets. That was something his father had taught him from a young age and it was something that Foltest lived into easily. When you had power at your fingertips, what was there to regret?

He regretted everything that happened with Vernon Roche. He  _ hated _ that he regretted everything with Roche. Kings weren’t supposed to have regrets and  _ especially _ not over gutter snipes. 

Oh, Roche was a  _ useful _ gutter snipe, and Foltest did genuinely like him. But at the end of the day, Foltest was a King and Roche was a nobody whoreson. That was just the way the world worked.

Foltest could admit that he’d always let Roche closer than others, save his precious Adda, may the gods rest her soul. Part of it was actually that Roche reminded him of Adda, reminded him of better times, when he was happy. But part of it was also just  _ habit.  _ Rules for Princes were different than for Kings and Foltest had been given Roche when he was still a young prince.

It seemed like a lifetime ago now, and it was funny what parts of it stuck in his memory. He knew that there had been some big to-do that he and Adda had been traveling by carriage around Vizima for, but he couldn’t recall what it was exactly. Instead, he thought about the way Adda had looked resplendent in white lace and the way she had smiled at the roaring cheers of their subjects. He remembered the exact moment those cheers had turned to panicked screams. Adda’s face had changed, so slowly he could recounted every muscle movement. Her eyes had widened, her pupils had contracted, her brows had knit together, and her pink lips had dropped open to form a lopsided ‘o’.

The rest of it, he knew from retellings, but he couldn’t actually say that he remember it at all. Apparently there had been an assassin in the crowd. A peasant had seen the marksman and tackled them, sending their shot off course. The crossbow bolt that had been aimed at his precious Adda’s heart veered sideways into the carriage cushions. His father had worked to bring order to the panicked crowd. The peasant was brought before King Medell to receive the personal gratitude of the royal family.

Then things had gotten strange, because Foltest’s father had seen  _ potential _ in the peasant. He could see that in retrospect, though at the time, all he’d really noticed was that his father was gifting him a new toy.  _ A companion, _ Father called the peasant,  _ to be anything you need him to be. _

And for twenty long years, Vernon Roche had been exactly that. Anything that Foltest requested, he took care of. Anything that interfered with Foltest’s plans, he took care of. Anything that needed done, he took care of.

Occasionally, Foltest had to talk him into doing it, but it was never hard. All he had to do was murmur ‘Vernon’ in a soft voice and emphasize how important what he needed done was, and Roche always agreed.

_ Had _ always agreed. Until Foltest had been foolish. He could recognize now, years after the fact, that it had been a foolish decision, sending Roche away. 

At the time, it had seemed a fitting punishment. Roche had overstepped, gotten a little too comfortable with his King. As King, it was Foltest’s  _ duty _ to remind Roche of his place. Because Roche may have been useful, but at the end of the day, he was still a nobody whoreson with nothing of value  _ except _ what Foltest gave him.

Sending him away should have reminded Roche that Foltest could do so at any time. It wasn’t even fully a punishment – really, it was a  _ promotion,  _ if anything. Roche was put in charge of building an elite special forces unit and they would serve Foltest directly. It was perfect.

Except he’d miscalculated. Oh, he’d seen Roche’s fit of rebellious anger for what it was when the man had gone on to recruit the dregs of society, but he hadn’t realized how  _ deep _ that anger ran. Must still run.

Why else would Roche do this? Why else would Roche  _ actively work against him!? _ More than anyone, Roche should have known the consequences of betraying his King, his country, his  _ friend.  _ Because Roche  _ had _ been a friend, in so much as one like that could be. He knew Roche better than anybody, knew his strengths and shortcomings, knew what drove him.  _ Had _ known what drove him. Now? Even the gods might not know.

Before, Roche had always been driven by three things: Family, Foltest, and Temeria. Of course, the last two were one and the same once Foltest became King, and given Roche’s casual ‘love you’, he likely considered Foltest his family as well.

Foltest wrinkled his nose at the audacity. Family? With a nameless whoreson? Not likely! He was King of Temeria, Prince of Sodden, Sovereign of Pontaria and Mahakam, Senior Protector of Brugge and Ellander. He was the last heir of the Temerian Dynasty, dating back to the First Landing. He  _ certainly _ wasn’t kin to some peasant who was only notable because Foltest had  _ chosen _ to make him so.

That, too, was a regret. Foltest never should have let Roche get too big for his shoes. He should have kept him as a personal attendant, not as a military leader. But damn it all, Roche had been so very  _ effective _ at it.

That was hurting Foltest rather than helping him now, though. Because Roche had betrayed him, betrayed Temeria, and gone off to serve some ridiculous peasant who thought claims of dragonslaying could bestow upon her the true majesty of royalty. Alongside  _ Scoia’tael,  _ no less. The very same nonhuman filth that Foltest had assigned him to eradicate.

It was disgusting, the lows that Roche had fallen to. That’s what Foltest told himself. The sour twisting in his gut was disgust. What else would it be?

After all, Kings don’t have regrets.


End file.
